


Hatred

by Blebheart



Category: Kingdom Hearts (Video Games)
Genre: Blood and Gore, Horror, Internal Conflict, M/M, Unhealthy Relationships, Vampires
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-30
Updated: 2021-01-01
Packaged: 2021-03-11 01:14:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,278
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28426869
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Blebheart/pseuds/Blebheart
Summary: He seethes, staring pointedly out of the train’s wide window and into the night. He knows he can’t wait much longer, but he hasn’t quite been able to get over how mad he is that he’s here at all. His hands flex and tense where they rest in his lap as he tries and fails to get the overwhelming emotion under control.
Relationships: Vanitas/Ventus (Kingdom Hearts)
Kudos: 25





	1. Chapter 1

Ventus feels a lot of rage these days. 

It isn’t an emotion he had ever been too familiar with, a happy young adult in the prime of his life. A guy with good friends, a loving family. Active within his community. Sure, his career could have used some work, but it wasn’t like he’d been _totally_ broke. No. Ventus had been doing pretty well in life all things considered. He’d practically lived the whole god damned thing by the book. A rule follower. Didn’t even kill spiders.

He seethes, staring pointedly out of the train’s wide window and into the night. He knows he can’t wait much longer, but he hasn’t quite been able to get over how mad he is that he’s here at all. His hands flex and tense where they rest in his lap as he tries and fails to get the overwhelming emotion under control.

_Everything_ had been overwhelming recently. Five months had passed since normalcy had been ripped out from under him, but it might as well have happened yesterday for all he had done to successfully cope. Why him? What had he done to deserve any of this?

Attempting once again to recenter, he shuts his eyes and takes the first of many deep breaths.

Count on him to fall for the wrong guy. He’d never had great taste, but come on. He’d just wanted something _exciting_ to happen for once. Should have been more careful what he wished for. Something awful clenches in his chest and he wants to cry from frustration. He hates himself. He hates what he’s done. What he’s doing. What he _has to do._

It’s a curse.

A fucking.

_Curse_.

He tries again to focus. Calm down. Slow his heart from fluttering so desperately. He keeps his eyes closed and takes note of the people in the car with him. He’s sitting on the upper level. There’s two people, a father and son most likely, sitting down the length of the car and to his left. Four more sit below him. Three on the left and one almost directly underneath him. The car isn’t particularly full, but what else could you expect on a redeye through the country’s heartland? They all sit there, unaware of the danger lurking there with them. His anger threatens to boil over.

Breathing out, he extends his senses further, trying to ground himself in the present and out of his furious thoughts. He feels all of their presences as easily as he feels his own. Their pulses, the rise and fall of their chests, the warmth of their bodies. The very life they hold within. It both calms him and disturbs him. What he can feel. He continues to breathe, the rage still sitting uncomfortably in his throat. The siren song of life calling to him is eventually more than he can take. He swallows his emotions and opens his eyes, finally accepting what he came here to do.

One of the women below shifts uncomfortably in her seat. She is aware of a change in the air. The loud and droning rumble of metal on metal punctuates the tense atmosphere. The father across the way looks around, startled by some not-so-imaginary chill. His gaze finally settles on Ventus, who is moving slowly to stand with an unreadable expression on his face. The rest of the passengers start to stir as well, sensing that something is very, very wrong. The boy looks to his father for reassurance.

Ventus sighs; the temperature drops and the lights flicker out. 

The countryside is dark; no light streams through the windows, and with only a dim glimmer from the adjacent cars, nobody sees what happens next.

With one swift movement Ventus is now on the lower level with the lone passenger, the darkness no issue with the call of light and life so clear. Ventus’ eyes gloss over as he allows senses and instinct to fog his brain. In a blink he tears through the man’s chest, superhuman strength allowing him to dig through hot meat until he can finally, _finally,_ feel the beating of life within his hands. He twists them into the sinews and revels in the way he can see it dance through his fingers. Sighing at the feeling, his rage quickly slips into ecstasy. 

Ventus can only marvel at the pulsing wound before him for so long. The thick smell of blood permeates the air as the man gurgles, blood bubbling through his lips. Ventus' mouth waters as he lowers his head to meet his hands. He bites down into the messy gore and gulps a mouthful of the syrupy liquid. His higher brain function slips further out of reach. He’s tired of resisting. Of starving. There’s only one way to sate his gnawing hunger.

One of the passengers on the left side of the train hears the cracks and squelching and instinctually digs for their phone. Scrambling, they turn on the harsh white LED of the flashlight and point it to the back of the train with shaky hands.

It takes a moment for them to process what they’re seeing in the unsteady light. The man that had been sitting there is now draped backward, limp over his bench. A thin figure is hunched over him, face buried in the man’s chest. Horrible slurping noises can be heard over the thunder of the train and the witness stands there in utter shock. In the dim light, the sounds and flickering figures are only more horrifying..

The child screams above them and the _thing_ digging into the corpse lurches up to look at the noise; face, arms and chest drenched with deep, sticky blood.

Ventus is completely gone to his instincts, only seeking that which will sustain him—wherever it may be. His eyes catch in the light of the smartphone, pupils blown black and irises glowing an unnatural blue. The father clutches his son close, shaking. Ventus lunges upwards to continue his meal.

\--

When the lights come back on, Ventus is sitting with his eyes shut and head back on a first level bench. Gore is strewn around him in haphazard splashes, the stink of death strong in the air. He’s once again taking deep, leveling breaths, drunk on the power that's now thrumming through him.

A tap on the window cuts through the silence and he ignores it.

The tapping continues, but Ventus can’t be bothered. If he moves he’ll fall back into the now familiar anger that consumes him. He just wants to sit and feel at peace for a moment longer.

The tapping stops and there’s a faint rustle before the train’s rattling door slides open, wind from outside rushing past.

A low, impressed whistle cuts through his revelry as the door clicks shut once again.

“Holy Hell, Ventus.” There’s wet, uneven steps as the guest makes his way through the aisle, clearly stepping around the decimated remains of passengers. He snorts and Ventus can picture the cruel smirk. “You have a bad day or something?” 

The figure drops unceremoniously into the seat next to him and Ventus can feel his eye twitch. Six months ago he was just a normal guy living a normal life. Blissfully unaware of how seriously fucked the world could be. Now he's five months into an eternity. He's officially been tossed center stage into a world of unimaginable pain and horror.

Ventus’ eyes slide open lazily to take in the object of his deepest hatred.

The one who’d turned him.

Vanitas.

The vampire.

Ventus feels a lot of rage these days.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> p.s. pls imagine this in a train layout like the chicago metra


	2. Obssession

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Vanitas continues to watch eagerly as Ventus lowers his center of gravity, once again giving in to the call of blood with a splendid show. He can only imagine the feral expression currently gracing that angelic face. It sends a tickle to his stomach.

He watches the scene unfolding before him with delighted interest. His legs dangle lazily off the second floor fire escape as the family is backed further and further into the dirty, dead end alley.

Never in a million years would Vanitas have pegged Ventus as a messy eater. Not someone with his disposition. All holier-than-thou with his manners and rules. Vanitas had promised him time and again that it was all made up nonsense, but the little shit had a stubborn streak.

Imagine his surprise when Vanitas found out what destruction was really stirring behind those baby blues.

Ventus stalks forward at an even pace, light blonde hair almost white under the flickering fluorescent lights. He looks clean, put together, friendly. He looks nothing like something from a nightmare should. By the time the family realizes something is wrong, it’s much too late to escape. The mother is talking, pleading in a high-pitched voice, both parents pushing their two children further and further behind them. Like that was going to do much. They had been fucked the moment they had asked pretty little Ventus for directions. Vanitas sighs happily and repositions himself at a better angle to witness the carnage.

At first he’d tried showing Ventus the _right_ way to do this, the _clean_ way, but even now he was having a hard time getting the guy to look at him, much less listen. Coaching be damned, Ventus was forging his own path and it was something so thrilling and unexpected that Vanitas could hardly look away.

Ventus.  _ His _ Ventus, reveling in the violence of his new life like no one he’d ever met. New vampires weren’t something that came along every day, but no one had ever told him it could be like  _ this _ . 

An unnatural chill flows through the air, carrying the terrified voice of the mother as she sobs and clutches at her shaking husband. She’s easily the loudest noise in the deserted alleyway, filling the decrepit, lonely hall as she begs uselessly for the life of her children. The distant street lights flicker and halo Ventus ominously as he advances, every step too quiet on the scummy brick. His hands twitch at his sides as he fights a losing battle with instinct.

Vanitas’ own upbringing had been under the tutelage of a much less forgiving master, his sire enforcing his rules with a brutal, relentless force. Supposedly, the teachings of a sire were something sacred in their loosely-tied community, the handbook for survival passed down from one individual to the next—the greatest gift one could receive. Unfortunately, all it had left Vanitas with was a great disdain for said rules. Tradition be damned, he would pass none of those stupid restrictions to his other half. They would live freely.

Vanitas watches eagerly as Ventus lowers his center of gravity, giving in to the call of blood with a splendid show. He can only imagine the feral expression currently gracing that angelic face, twisting sweet features with rage, and it tickles his stomach as a shriek of terror lances through the night.

Fast as a bullet, Ventus’ arm bursts through the mother’s back, a spectacular spray of blood exploding through the air and drenching her husband and children behind her. They stand with mouths gaping open like fish, shock freezing them where they stand. Pathetic. Ven’s other hand grips the side of the woman’s face as he jerks it aside with so much force the skin of her neck tears open, cutting off her surprised death rattle with a sickening crunch.

Ventus is on the wound in a moment. Biting into the muscle and tendon with rapture, one arm still lodged through his victim’s torso. The woman’s knees buckle and they both drop to the ground with a thud. The sight leaves Vanitas giddy, neary trembling. 

With a newfound rush of adrenaline, the father's shaking hands move through his pockets, scrabbling in search of his phone as wet sounds echo through the alley. A sudden moment of clarity and last ditch call for help, unaware that his phone was nothing but a brick inside the powerful aura of a feeding vampire. 

He never finds it.

Ventus lifts his head from the corpse’s neck with a contented sigh, a string of gore still connected at his chin. He stands slowly, wiping his face and stepping on the body’s shoulder to release his still-buried limb from the meat of her torso. Red now to the elbow, he licks at the thickest of the mess and is lost to the world. Beautiful.

The man steps back in horror, broken glass crunching loudly under his leather shoes. Vanitas still can’t see Ventus’ face, but the offense is clear in his stance as he freezes. With a huff he flicks his arm down, casually painting the ground with another splatter.

Another step back and the father’s fate is sealed. Ventus jumps forward, knees landing solidly on the man’s chest, both hands twisting in his hair. With another cruel jerk, his neck is bared and they both topple over to the ground. The man lands poorly, yelling hoarsely, but still tries to scramble as Ven latches on and rips out the front of his throat with his teeth—messily and without remorse.

It’s comical.

Downright hilarious.

Ventus eats like he’s searching for something. He digs through guts and tissue like they’re gifts to be unwrapped, using his whole body to tear to the core of his victims. At first Vanitas had thought he’d been throwing tantrums. His moody additude and the unnecessary overkill so starkly unlike Ventus, he could only reason that it’d all been out of spite.

Another fantastic spray of liquid coats the walls as Ventus sits back to pry the man’s chest open, ribs shattering and cracking loudly. 

The two children sit cowering and holding each other in the corner, twin figures of terror. One watches Ventus eviscerate their father in abject horror while the other is crumpled in on their sibling, shaking quietly and hiding their face from the awful scene. Humans truly were disgusting, unsightly creatures.

After the first few months, it had become apparent that this was just how Ventus preferred to hunt. The prissy, coddled boy who didn’t like mud on his shoes actually _enjoyed_ this. He _thrived_ in it. And as much as Ventus hated him for it, Vantias refused to see this as anything other than a gift. The gift of freedom, of life untethered to morals and manner. There was truly no purer form of love.

Vanitas slinks down from his perch with ease, moving silently in the darkness.

As the last of the man’s life is greedily consumed, Vanitas saunters over to the children. Ventus is far enough gone now and the opportunity to participate is too rare to ignore.

In the few civil conversations he'd been able to sneak out of Ventus since he’d turned, Ventus had described life as a beacon. A warm light that called him closer, the all-consuming pull too difficult to ignore. And it made sense in a way. Ventus had been just that in life. A soothing presence with an endearing vivacity that people found hard to hate. What a nice way to exist.

Vanitas crouches down in front of the snivelling kids and sees nothing of the sort.

Instead, all he sees is putrid darkness and fear. He can feel their little hearts beating rapidly, breath coming quick and uneven, terrified as they are. He smiles and spares a glance back at his partner. Ventus is still straddled on the dead man, breathing heavily and licking blood from between his delicate fingers. Vanitas couldn’t be more proud if he tried.

He reaches out and clutches the two remaining victims to him, ripping them apart from each other and gripping them both by the faces. He places his hands firmly over their mouths, lest their wailing wake Ventus from his drunken stupor. They’re both struggling futilely, kicking and crying as he drags them closer to the monster that had just murdered their parents in an admittedly gruesome display of strength.

“Here, Ven.” He says with a smile. Ventus whips his head around, cold eyes narrowed angrily. The squirming children both still in fear. The figure before them is drenched in blood, and it shines black in the night, standing out in lovely contrast to Ven’s fair features. 

“Got you something.”

Ventus’ eyes take their time sliding down to one of the kids at Vanitas’ side. Vanitas watches their eyes meet in an intense stare and releases his grip from the chosen child with a flourish and a laugh. 

Spending a moment too stunned at being let go to move, the kid quickly regains their senses and turns to bolt in fear. Ventus leaps from his position and catches them in the back, his third and final victim for the night.

Vanitas finds a clean-ish spot on a discarded egg crate and sits to watch the end of the performance, forcing his own meal down with him. He leans in close and whispers into the child’s ear. Darkness pulses and the kid goes limp. No whimpering, no slobbering, still aware. He positions them both to admire the view, reveling in the spike of fear as the child witnesses the unfortunate fate of their sibling.

“Isn’t he a sight?” Vanitas laughs quietly to the kid.

Ventus is about ten paces away and hunched over on all fours, the tiny body beneath him struggling as he drinks. Wet, messy noises are punctuated with sounds of tearing and whimpers of pain. 

Vanitas can still clearly recall Ven’s flustered nagging when he’d poured the wine into the wrong glass.

Oh how the mighty fall.

He tilts his own victims’ neck to the side carefully and bites down hard. The blood flows heavy within him, the sharp taste of terror providing a refreshing edge. 

Vanitas has always preferred to do most of his work before a kill. He enjoys the theatre of it, working his victims up until black despair is all they can feel and promptly sucking them dry. It’s more fun that way. 

He spares a glance for the sloppily butchered bodies. 

Cleaner too.

Dropping the spent corpse off to the side, Vanitas continues to watch Ventus patiently. It looks like he, too, is finished with dessert and is sitting back using his arms for support. His chest rises and falls rhythmically as he tries to catch his breath.

Vanitas sits there a moment longer before his desire to see the expression on Ven’s face overwhelms his lack of desire to move.

Standing and stretching languidly, full and sated, Vanitas walks forward until he’s facing Ventus.

Ven is still sitting back, head tilted in apparent bliss, lips parted and breathing deeply. Blood runs from his face and his hair in a splotchy mess, golden curls clumped together with gore. His upper body is drenched, thin cotton button up sticking to his skin. Vanitas secretly hopes that one day he’ll be forgiven for this. That Ventus will see the gift for what it is. 

He sinks to his knees.

Slowly he reaches his hands forward, uncharacteristically hesitant to disturb the sight before him. His fingers settle into the hair at the nape of Ven’s neck, softly pulling his head forward, cradled from either side. Ven’s eyes peek open. The usual hate and vitriol is absent from his expression. He still looks dazed, thick lashes hooding his eyes dreamily. 

It’s been awhile since they shared a moment this tender. Both of them always come in too aggressive to be sweet. He can’t help himself. He tilts his head and licks a swipe of blood from Ventus’ face, trying to taste some of that light his other half so covets. 

Ven shudders beneath him but hasn’t come to. 

Vanitas smiles and pulls them into a soft kiss, the tang of blood unmistakable between them. Excitement tingles in Vanitas’ chest and he settles in closer, deepening the embrace. 

Ven is pliant against Vanitas’ advances until he’s not.

The switch is instantaneous. Vanitas is roughly pushed to the ground and pinned. He offers no resistance, looking up at the sliver of night sky framing Ventus’ silky blond hair. He appreciates the way blood glitters in the harsh alley light. Ventus is a shadow above him, eyes glowing with fury. He could stare into those cold eyes forever.

“What the _fuck._ ” Ventus whispers venomously. “Do you think you’re doing?”

Vanitas just laughs and reaches up to pull them into a second kiss. This time he wastes no time shoving his tongue past Ventus’ defenses, taking advantage of his partner’s surprise. The kiss is intense but short and ends with a knee to the stomach and a slap to the face. After what Ven had accomplished moments prior, the paltry show of resistance is just cute.

Vanitas smirks, the pavement digging uncomfortably into his back. Ventus' rage is palpable.

“I love you too.”

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> in which vanitas makes a lot of assumptions


	3. Conversation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He well and truly hates this. Casual conversations with the monster who ruined his life.

“What grudge do you have against couples?”

The question catches Ventus off guard and he pauses midstep. 

“I don’t have a grudge,” Ventus lies.

“I don’t believe you,” Vanitas retorts with one of his infuriating smirks.

“I honestly have no idea what you’re talking about.” Ventus continues down the uneven city sidewalk, threading himself through the late-night crowds. People all around them are chattering away, standing in line for the next stop on their bar crawl or stepping outside for a smoke. 

“Sure you do Ventus.” Vanitas drawls next to him, a skip in his step. “I’ve seen the way you give ‘extra-special’ attention to the happy little lovebirds. Families too. Always wondered about it—consider me curious.”

They pass a food cart with a few patrons drunkenly shoving their extra cash at the owner in exchange for a quick, greasy meal. The smell makes Ventus want to puke.

“I don’t give anyone ‘extra-special’ attention.” He grimaces at the distasteful euphemism. “I just...” He trails off, not sure how to put it.

There’s something so  _ warm _ about humans in love. Life radiates out of them in dazzling color. Their happiness holds something so appealing to him, Ventus has a hard time controlling himself around it. He  _ wants _ it—needs their warmth, to steal it away for himself...

“...have my preferences _. _ ”

“Preferences, huh?” Vanitas gives him a side-eye and Ventus quickly looks away. He shoves his hands deep into his tan overcoat and lowers his face into his scarf. The warm outfit isn’t entirely necessary, but it’s cold outside and unlike Vanitas, Ventus doesn't like standing out. They continue to walk side by side in silence for a beat.

“Why couples though?” Ventus looks up at the question and unexpectedly makes eye contact. Vanitas is assessing him with eyes narrowed, as if trying to pick apart a particularly difficult puzzle. The neon lights make his amber stare appear all the more inhuman. 

Heat rises to Ventus’ face. They’ve both fed recently and he may as well be alive for how hard his heart beats in his chest. He bites his lip as irrational anger threatens to bubble up.

He well and truly hates this. Casual conversations with the monster who ruined his life.

They say time heals all wounds, but Ventus is stubborn and the wound is deep.

“You’re wrong.” Vanitas quirks an eyebrow at the admission. Ventus sighs, looking forward once again. “It’s not… couples… per se.”

“Oh?” He can still feel his companion’s interested stare as they separate to move around a particularly crowded entrance.

“What is it then?” Vanitas asks when they reunite.

_ It’s love. _

Ventus can’t make himself say it.

“It’s embarrassing. I don’t want to tell you.”

Vanitas laughs and bumps their shoulders together. “Oh come on, you’re no fun at all.”

Ventus grimaces at the contact, itching to punch the smug look off that stupid face. Too bad they were in public.

“Fine then. What’s up with you and torturing the scum of the earth?” He asks instead.

In all fairness, Vanitas’ typical fare was probably considered a lot more morally palatable than his own. Murderers, rapists, businessmen. People nobody would ever miss. Something told Ventus that morals had nothing to do with it though.

“It’s more fun if they have something to actually feel guilty about.” 

Ventus slides his gaze over once again. “How do you mean?”

“Awful people. The truly awful ones,” Vanitas elaborates, “They never ask, ‘why me?’ or ‘what did I do to deserve this?’ Sure, they cry and beg and grovel just like any other mortal, but at the end of the day they know what it is they’ve done. It’s easier to coax the darkness to the surface that way. Tastier too. You should try it sometime.”

“Ew. Gross. No thank you.” 

There was such a disparity between how he and Vanitas perceived the act of feeding, Ventus would often wonder if there was something wrong with him. The meals Vanitas gravitated to held absolutely no appeal and Ventus could hardly imagine enjoying the long, drawn out torture Vanitas so loved.

“So,” Vanitas prompts once again, his original line of questioning unforgotten. “Why couples?”

Ventus shifts uncomfortably.

“They’re… brighter… than most people I guess.” He finally admits. 

Ventus sees their destination up ahead and picks up his pace. The bright filament lights of the theatre are hard to miss. People are gathered outside, huddled under the heat lamps. Judging by the thin crowd, the doors had opened a while ago. The only people left are waiting for will-call or attempting to sell stubs. 

“And that makes you so mad…why?” Vanitas asks with genuine curiosity.

“Sometimes I just…” Ventus wants to feel bad. He wants to feel horrified at himself. But he doesn’t. “...want a little piece of that for myself.”

Vanitas considers him with confusion apparent on his face. He seems to contemplate something for a moment.

“I don’t get you.” 

They’ve finally arrived and Vanitas walks ahead to hold open the gilded door. Ventus walks through without pause.

“Consider it mutual.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> heads up im imagining these all a few months apart


End file.
